Page 86 of Tell Me What You Want

“What we have? And what is it that we have?”

“What we have is what we have. We’ve liked each other for years and ...”

“Oh God,” I whisper, horrified.

“Judith, that man ...”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear you talk about my boss or about my private life, do you understand?”

Fernando nods, and then we’re trapped in an uncomfortable silence.

“Take me home or I’ll go on my own—you decide,” I say as I get up to leave. He stands up, swallows the last of his drink, and pulls the car keys from his pocket.

“Let’s go.”

He drives, and neither of us talks. When we get to my father’s, he cuts the engine.

“Judith, think about what I said,” he says.

He leans down and kisses me. When he touches my lips, it’s all sweetness, but I pull away. I get out and walk toward my father’s house, cursing under my breath.

33

Two days later, Fernando still hasn’t been back to the house, although he texts to ask how I’m doing and invites me to lunch or dinner. I turn down all his offers. I don’t want to see him. What is wrong with these guys?

On the fifth day, I wake up in a better mood. My room is the same as always. My dad makes sure nothing changes, and when I hear his knuckles rapping at my door, I open it to reveal his happy face.

“Good morning, little girl.”

“Good morning, Papá,” I say.

My dad has brought our breakfast, like he does every morning. It’s a little thing we do, our moment of the day to talk things over. We both enjoy it.

“Fernando called. He wanted to talk to you and said he’d call later,” he says.

I don’t like that, but I try not to change my expression. I don’t want my father to get the wrong idea. But he’s no fool either.

“Is something going on with you and Fernando?”

“No.”

“Then why isn’t he coming by to see you as usual?”

I know he wants the truth.

“Look, Papá, let’s be honest, because we’re all grown-ups now. Fernando wants something from me I don’t want from him. And though he is a dear and true friend, there’ll never be anything more between us because my thoughts are on someone else. You understand, right?”

My father says yes. “From this point on, my lips are sealed. But, my love, you’re not still going out with the boy I saw you with the last time I was in Madrid?”

I burst out laughing.

“Look,” he says before I can answer, “I know that in the city, things are different. But—oh!—I just couldn’t deal with that guy when I saw those rings hanging from his brow and nose.”

“No worries, Papá ... He is not who I’m thinking about.”

“I’m glad to know that, little girl. That guy looked like he knew a thing or two.”

That makes me crack up again, and my dad laughs too. We linger over breakfast for a good while, until he catches a glimpse of the time.

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